Apps Schmapps 06/09/23

If artificial intelligence weren’t bad enough, we are also confronted with an onslaught of apps. Take my attempt to watch the Mets - Braves game the other night. In hindsight I shouldn’t have bothered. My family and wife’s extended family (24 people in all counting grandparents, parents, and children) are on vacation in South Carolina. Each family rented a house. In our house are several tv’s including a big one no less than 70” in the living room.

On this particular night we were alone, and after we put our granddaughter to bed, my wife asked me if I wanted to watch a movie. “Sure,” I replied. I then picked up one of the two remotes in front of the tv (or smart tv monitor, if you want to get technical) and pressed a button saying “Netflix.” Simple, right? Wrong. I then was asked for the password from the owner of the house we’re renting and of course I had no idea of that one, so I signed in as myself but it turns out myself has no account on this particular dumbass tv, err, I mean smart tv monitor. So after several attempts on Amazon, Prime, Hulu, etc I gave up and we read books. Real books too, not the iPad versions.

Then our kids came home and I attempted to watch the Mets game with our son. He managed to download the Major League Baseball App (which he pays for) after at least 20 minutes of trying. After he finally, heroically sets it up, he clicks on Mets-Braves and a message pops up…”This game cannot be shown due to a contractual obligation with another network.” Really? The other network, it turns out, was TBS. We change the tv channel to TBS by saying “TBS” into the smart remote and what message are we confronted with? “Tonight’s game on TBS cannot be shown in your area due to contractual obligations.” You have got to be f@#k*&g kidding me.

But then I said, “Wait, I pay for the Mets network, SNY at home. So after another quadrillion steps I downloaded the app and we got to watch the game. On my little iPad. And this is supposed to be the future. Just one more gripe and I will leave you to enjoy your weekends and hope I come down from being pissed off so I can enjoy the rest of mine. My wife and I bought a one year subscription to Peacock, so we could watch the first four seasons of Yellowstone. Which we did. If you haven’t yet had the pleasure of watching something on Peacock, you pay a subscription fee PLUS they make you sit through commercials. I know, I know, John and I made a living writing those commercials for most of our adult lives, but now that we’re out of the business, we hate being interrupted by ads as much as you do. At any rate, when Season 5, the supposed final season, came around, it wasn't on Peacock. Yet. It would be if you were patient enough to wait 6 months. If not, you had to buy a whole new streaming system, Paramount+. Don’t you hate the + sign? It always means that the regular thing you pay for won’t include what you really want to watch. That is only available on +.

Okay, I'm finished ranting this weekend. I’ll be back home and we’ll be back to you with two new comics, but they’ll only be available on TheNew60+. Nah, just kidding. Have a great weekend.

Andy and John

The More Things Change...06/02/23

You know that hoary old cliche, “the more things change, the more they stay the same?” We kinda disagree on that one. It feels like it ought to say, “The more things change, the more complicated they get.” We already went over new car radios in last week’s blog, but smart refrigerators requiring you to know which shelf to put the milk on, smart watches telling you it’s time to stand up (while you’re driving your smart car), theaters and ball games that only accept tickets on a movie phone, not the paper kind, it’s all getting a tad overwhelming, but just a tad. How do we cope? By writing a comic strip of course. And our mutual confusion leads to an endless supply of stories, so there’s that.

Our baseball comic was inspired by an actual incident a few weeks ago when one of us, (I won’t say who so as not to embarrass John), fell asleep at a baseball game, despite it being over in a crisp 2 hours and 10 minutes. Okay, okay, it was me, but I’m blaming it on the pregame tequila shot. That’s my story and I’m sticking with it. Besides, while baseball is played at a much faster pace than in previous years, it’s still…baseball.

And onto A.I. We’ve all heard the horror stories about how it’s going to replace us, the same way robots did, only worse. We’ve read accounts that say that the more sophisticated A.I. becomes, the more apt it is to decide it doesn’t need us anymore. That we are inefficient and respond at a much slower rate than A.I. can. For instance, for the low, low price of just $20 per month (sorry, you can take the boy out of advertising, but you can’t take advertising out of the boy), you could ask it to write you an article about the deficit ceiling. And then ask it to rewrite it the way William Shakespeare would have written it. And then ask for it to be a poem. In iambic pentameter. And then make it into a Broadway show tune in the style of Lin Manuel-Miranda. We have no idea why you’d want to do this, but the point is that a program like ChatGPT could do all this in a matter of seconds. When it comes to writing commercials, I’m sure it would do a great job of that as well, and I would’ve been fine with that so long as I was still getting paid. I’d imagine the copy would flow beautifully without ever revealing it was artificially generated. Something along the lines of, “Hey, members of the baby boom generation born after 1955, have a Pepsi. It’s the preferred drink of world leaders, movie stars and top athletes that people in your demographic are sure to admire!”

At any rate we officially welcome you to the Summer of ‘23. And we will see you again next week with two new comics. And we’ll keep on going until we get taken over by A.I. By the way, if A.I. and Al were in a fight, I’d put my money on Al.

Have a great weekend,

Andy and John

Baby You Can Drive My Car. 05/26/23

The more cars become sophisticated electronically, the harder they become to operate. Take the radio. I like the push button days, when pressing #1 gave me my favorite music station, #2 was my favorite news station, #3 was sports talk radio, etc. Now, every time I turn on my all-electric car, I get a randomly selected radio station. I cannot save my “favorites” unless I properly enroll in “My BMW,” which I cannot figure out how to do. So I first have to push the “media” button on the console, and then select “FM” or “Sirius” and then have to turn a dial also on the console, to my selected channel. All while trying to keep the car in the same lane on the highway, mind you. Not easy. And what the hell happened to “AM radio?” They don’t even offer it!!!!

And then let’s talk about keys, which are the subject of both this week’s cartoons. John calls them key fobs, I call them keys, but you can see from the comic who won that battle. At any rate, with an old-fashioned key, you had to stick it in the ignition. Then came the key fobs, and the car makers still had a slot for you to insert the key fob (there, are you happy now John?) into the ignition, so you always ended your drive the same way. Step 1, turn off the engine. Step 2, pull the key out of the ignition. Step 3, put the key in your pocket, purse, backpack, etc. So what went wrong? Turns out with the modern key fob, you don’t have to do anything with it, except have it with you. There is no place to put the key (fob) into the dashboard. The key slot has gone the way of the car cigarette lighter. No more. So what do you do? You put the damn key FOB in the cup holder. And promptly forget it. The good (and bad news) is the car doesn’t lock when the key is still inside, which I like, because I used to routinely lock my keys in the car after a round of golf, when I forgot that I put the keys in my golf bag and my golf bag was in the trunk, and…

See something like that was bad enough, but what Marv did was worse. Because he just left his key or as some would have it, key fob, in the cup holder. And since the car can no longer be locked with the keys or key fob inside, it makes it very easy for a car thief to prowl the neighborhood and look for cars parked in driveways where many people routinely make the same mistake Marv did, and poof, his car was gone. One last question about keys. Why are a single set of keys referred to in the plural (Honey, have you seen the car keys?) but a key fob is singular? (Honey where did you put the key fob). Questions like this are part of what make the comic business so rewarding.

Finally, John and I are putting the finishing touches on our new compilation of the New 60’s Greatest Hits. A comic book, if you will. Hundreds of our favorite comics, with some wry (whatever that means) commentary by us. Should be on sale before the end of the year. That’s it for now. Until we meet again next week, have a great Memorial Day Weekend,

Andy and John

Here Comes Summer. 05/19/23

If you’ve gotten this far, you’ve likely seen both of today’s comics already. One dealt (mercifully) with Al’s final game as an ump. And the other deals with Marv settling in for the season with his new backyard setup. But first a word about the strip. Well it seems that Andy (that’s me) turned 70 last week, which begs the question, can a 70-year old still write about life in your 60’s? And the answer is, hell yeah. And John is still squarely in his 60’s. I can hear you 60 somethings sitting back there saying, I still play tennis while you play pickleball, I ride a real bike while you ride an e-bike, I walk 18 holes, blah, blah, blah. Let me tell you something, I can do everything you 60-year olds can do. Just not quite as well. And to tell the truth, I haven’t yet tried pickleball. Besides, as John points out, Charlie Brown never aged, nor did Lucy, or Popeye. And neither did Beetle Bailey, Dagwood Bumstead or for that matter, Dick Tracy. So the New 60 will continue to be the New 60, and besides, John is 5 years younger. And he plays tennis. And rides a real bike. Far. Which gets us back to summer.

Sure Al tried his hand at umping the boys of summer, but a brutal collision at home plate, getting barreled over by an aggressive 8-year old, ends his newest career path. Which is a good thing, because sooner or later he was bound to call his grandson Billy out at the plate, and who knows where that would’ve gone? Actually we do, but we’re not telling.

And then there’s Marv in his new backyard setup. When you have dreams like building a pool, buying a sports car or (in my wife’s case) traveling to Bhutan, if you don’t do it now, when are you gonna do it? Now is the time to go for it. Unless you’re like the long-suffering fans of the old Brooklyn Dodgers who, upon losing to the hated Yankees year after year (except for 1955 when they finally beat them), adopted the famous slogan, “Wait ‘til next year.”

Have a wonderful weekend, and we’ll be back next week with two new ones.

Andy and John

Relief Pitch. 05/12/23

How much more is there to say about umpires? Plenty, in fact. As Al gets ready to join the fraternity of umpires and referees, I’m reminded of John and me going into the comic strip arena. Physical newspapers are dying out, those that are left have a shrinking “funny pages” section and there aren’t as many comics today as there used to be. Perfect! Let’s go for it!! “So how does that relate to umpiring,” I hear you ask? They too are on their way to becoming obsolete. Baseball, once “America’s National Pastime,” is becoming a fringe sport. It’s too slow, there’s not enough scoring, blah, blah, blah. John and I for one (actually I guess that’s two) still are big fans. But back to the umps. Did you know that in the top levels of the minor leagues, the home plate umpire, the guy or gal that calls balls and strikes, has a communication device in their ear. It says “ball” or “strike” in the umpire’s ear after every pitch. In fact Major League Baseball was actively recruiting for Automated Ball-Strike (ABS) techs in the biggest minor league cities. The ump has essentially been reduced to a robot. But I’ll bet robots make way fewer bad calls.

Poor umps. But not all of them. I’m reminded of a Robert DeNiro movie in the late ‘90’s called “The Fan.” In it, Wesley Snipes was a superstar player traded to the San Francisco Giants (note: if you’re still upset the former NY Giants baseball team ended up in San Francisco then you may actually be too old for this comic strip)! He was having a tough start to his season and DeNiro, a down on his luck, out of work salesman, took his angst out on Snipes, following and harassing him all over the city. Finally Snipes comes around and starts playing like the star he’s always been. In a chilling final scene, he comes barreling around third base and slides into home. The ump removes his mask and signals, “safe!” But when the ump pulls off his mask, we see it’s none other than Robert DeNiro. This time it wasn’t poor ump, it was poor batter. He wanted to kill Wesley Snipes.

This is all to say that Al doesn't really know what he’s getting into. If you’re reading this, you likely have already read the comics, and you know that far from becoming a knock-out umpire, Al becomes a knocked-out umpire. Don’t worry folks, he’ll survive. But maybe he’ll stick to Pizza. On a stick. On a personal note, I (Andy) am turning 70 on Monday. I am hoping this doesn't disqualify me from working on The New 60. And what happens when John turns 70 also (don’t worry fans, he’s still got a long way to go) do we change the title of the strip? No. As John points out, Charlie Brown and Lucy never aged so why should our peeps be any different?

That’s it for this week. Have a great week and we’ll be back next Friday with the conclusion of our umpire series and a whole new direction.

Andy and John

You're...safe! But Am I? 05/05/23

Last week, I wrote that we were embarking on a 4-part series on umpiring. Turns out we had so many stories, it became a 6-part series. John, for those of you who don’t know, played college soccer and went on to play in adult leagues after graduation where the competition was, to put it lightly, fierce. He recalled a game very close to where I now live in Westchester in which his team beat the other team. Suffice it to say, the other team didn’t take it well. John and a buddy ran for their car amidst a hail of rocks and bottles, and good thing for John and this comic strip, he was parked very close to the field and he and his friend made it to safety. This event gave us the advice that Al receives at Umpiring School: park very close to home plate.

I only umped one time, at my daughter’s softball game, which I wrote about in last week’s blog. But I coached baseball, soccer and basketball up until 7th grade, at which time the middle school coaches took over. And forgive me for moralizing, but parents are becoming increasingly out of control. I was coaching a 5th and 6th grade soccer team, a rec team where every kid gets to play. It’s less competitive than a travel team, where only the best kids play. The idea is participation and fun. Not for some parents. This one mother was incensed that the referee, a high school girl and varsity soccer player herself, made a call against our team. And we ultimately lost by one goal. This mother of a player on my team rushed out onto the field at the final whistle and whacked the ball out of the referee’s hand! I rushed out onto the field (or the “pitch” as they say in soccer) and had to put both arms around the irate parent to restrain her from physically attacking the poor referee. In yet another incident, this time with a 3rd and 4th grade team, an unruly parent called for his son to break the leg of my son. He was shouting “Take him out! Take his legs out!” The referee was in over his head and when I told the guy to shut his mouth, he yelled at the top of his lungs, “Go fuck yourself.” Thankfully, three of the dads of players on my team, went over to this guy, who was drunk, and forcibly took him to the other side of the field, where he remained, by himself for the remainder of the game. When I asked one of the dads what he said, my friend replied, “I told him if he opened his mouth again, he’d spend the rest of the game in the Hudson River.” Since it was November, I’d imagine the water would have been quite chilly, and the jerky man miraculously calmed down. This umpiring stuff is serious business because, in my opinion, parents have become wayyyyy too involved. Immediately after that previously mentioned one-goal defeat, the kids were on the sideline arranging play dates, “Mom can I go over to Billy’s house, puh-leeese?” They had no interest in smacking the ball out of the ref’s hands.

Which all goes to show you that Al is going to have his hands full. He may have bitten off more than he can chew. But keep reading next week and you’ll find out. It’s another example of the rule, “No good deed goes unpunished.”

Have a wonderful weekend and we’ll be back next week with parts 4 and 5. And if you’re thinking of umpiring your grandchildren’s games, here’s a suggestion: please don’t.

Andy and John

EYES WIDE OPEN 4/28/23

This week we tackled golf talk and what it’s like to umpire your grandkids’ ball games. Wait, can you actually tackle golf? No, there is no tackling in golf, just as there are no mixed metaphors in good writing. But the point is (is there an actual point?) that we apply a lot of sports language to describe different aspects of our lives. We’re all part of the same team (try that the next time you get into a political discussion with a stranger). We need to call a timeout. This employee is punching above her weight class. So and so needs to stay in their lane. We’ve got to pull this one out with some late-game heroics. But no sport is more applicable in describing our stage of life, than the sport of golf. If we’ve heard it once, we’ve heard it a million times, once you pass the age of 50, you are said to be playing the back nine. Now for those of you who know absolutely nothing about golf, the typical course is comprised of 18 holes, so after you “make the turn,” on the 10th hole, you are said to be “playing the back nine.” In other words, approaching the finish line (yet another sports cliche). And it got us to thinking, what’s the rush in finishing? Is it really so bad to slow down and maybe look for a lost ball or two? And maybe the more appropriate metaphor is miniature golf. You know what happens at the 18th and final hole at a mini golf course? You putt the ball in the hole and it goes down a tube, never to be seen again. At least, in regular golf, you go with your buddies to the bar which is almost always called “The 19th Hole.” So you see, life does go on.

In our other strip we are starting a four-part series on umpiring. John and I have a bunch of experience with this topic. I once attended my daughter’s middle school, rec-league softball game only to find that the umpire had neglected to show up. Rather than seeing her team have to forfeit, I volunteered to ump the game myself. Her coach thanked me profusely. That is until the 3rd inning when I called a play dead, preventing one of his players from scoring and sent her back to third base. He came running out on the field and started yelling in my face like he was a big-league manager. I told him if he said one more word, his team (my daughter’s team) would in fact forfeit the game after all. That shut him up. Until I called strike 3 on the next batter. John has faced barbs as both a player and a ref, but more on that as we get deeper into our series. Suffice it to say, people yelling about balls and strikes from the sideline of a kid’s game, have a much worse angle than the ump. And they’re not doing their kids or grandkids any favors. “Adults” should let the kids play and the umps ump. Or at least stop sneaking wine into the sippy cups they’re drinking on the sideline.

That’s it for this week. Have a good one and we’ll be back behind the plate again next with our next two installments.

Andy and John

Politically Correct Week

Another week, another blog about Politically Correct language. Because that’s what happens when you create a 3-part series dealing with the same topic. To be fair, we grew up in the 50’s and 60’s and some of our language was unintentionally horrible. Guys were accused of “throwing like a girl.” I also remember going to a Mets game in the Polo Grounds, which was a rectangle, not exactly an ideal shape for baseball. The foul poles were very short. You only had to hit a ball 258 feet to hit a homerun to right field. This was considered a “cheap” home run. In our infinite racial stupidity, we called them “Chinese” homers. Because back then, we considered things made in China to be cheap. It’s really disgusting, but the interesting part is that my friends and I had absolutely no idea we were being offensive. We heard an older kid say it, thought it was cool, and then we said it. Why is the bad kid always called the “black” sheep of the family? Did you know when you say somebody “gypped” you, that you are being offensive to gypsies? When you call a certain person’s remarks “tone deaf,” you are being offensive to deaf people or the hearing impaired? A “basket case” came from World War I referring to a soldier who had lost all four limbs and had to be carried in a basket. The “rule of thumb” apparently comes from a 1600’s English Law that allowed men to assault their wives with a stick, so long as it was no wider than a thumb. Yikes. We can’t all possibly know all these phrases and where they come from, but some of them, well…

True story. I once went to an Acura dealer in Westchester County where I live and started to negotiate on the final price on an Acura sedan. The salesman apparently wasn’t in a negotiating mood when he said, “Don’t try to Jew me down.” Seriously. I got more than a little pissed when I told him, “You know I’m Jewish.” He turned the color of a sheet and claimed, “I said CHEW me down.” I said goodbye and headed straight for Subaru. Having said all of this, I think there is a major difference between being unintentionally offensive (okay until it’s pointed out) and being intentionally offensive (never okay). We’re just picking out a few examples to keep you on your toes. As has been frequently suggested to me, “maybe you’d be better if you just kept your mouth shut.” That’s it for this week. We’ve got one more example next week and then we’re going on a 4-part journey to watch Al attempt a new skill with very mixed results. Have a great weekend,

Andy and John

BLOG APRIL 14

Oftentimes the inspiration for a comic comes from real life. Sometimes it comes from my life or John’s directly. This is one of those times. For those of you who are a bit behind on your blog reading, I was experiencing a little shortness of breath and made the (depending on how you look at it) brilliant or dumb decision to mention it to my wife. Before I knew it, she was whisking me into the big city (Manhattan) to see her (and now my) cardiologist. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but you know how they ask all these intake questions? “How tall are you?” (I say 5’6” but have apparently shrunk to 5’5”). “How much do you weigh?” (I say 164 when it’s more like 165 and possibly even 166 if you must know the absolute, unvarnished truth). But then the questions led to health, like “how many drinks do you have in an ordinary week?” and, “Do you smoke?” To which I add,

“E-cigarettes don’t count, right?” At any rate my wife Joanie set the record straight on every one of these questions. When I mentioned this to John, he knew we had a comic. And listen I’m all for turning life experiences into comics, but I don’t know if the scare and aggravation of having a stent put into one of your arteries was worth a good comic, but now that the deed is done, I’m gonna go with, yes it was worth it. Kinda.

Our other comic came right from the world of Political Correctness. It is a pet peeve of John’s and mine to hear anyone butcher the English language by saying things like “Overexaggerate” or “I could care less,” when they mean “exaggerate” or that you “COULDN’T care less.” Fair warning-we will call you on it. But equally ridiculous is this super sensitivity to politically correct language. Some of it makes a ton of sense but when one State Legislature wanted to change the term “women” to “people with uteruses,” I cringed.  We are also big baseball fans and when PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) got upset about the term “bullpen,” I rolled my eyes. For those of you who don’t know, the bullpen is where a team’s relief pitchers sit. If they are needed to enter the game in the later innings, the manager makes a “call to the bullpen.” Well PETA brought up that the term originated from the cruel sport of bullfighting, and it was offensive to (bulls???). The bulls, some of which get repeatedly stabbed by the matadors, stay in a “bullpen” until they are made to enter the ring. Okay, But PETA suggested that Major League Baseball change the term to “Arm Barn.” I kid you not. In the next few comics, we’re going to take a crack at explaining some of the new changes being suggested by the critics. Maybe you’re wondering, what does this have to do with being older? And if you’re asking, we’re answering. If you have millennial children, how many times have you heard, “You can’t say that dad (or mom). Master Bedroom connotes slavery, Indian giver disrespects Indians who aren’t Indians but Native Americans in the first place!  You get the idea. We’re just trying to perform a public service so you dear readers don’t fall into the trap of making these verbal faux pas. You’re welcome. Have a great weekend and be sure to root your favorite team on from the Arm Barn.

See you next week,

Andy and John

Who You Gonna Believe, Me or Your Lyin' Eyes? 04/07/23

I remember when my wife and I moved into our current home 8 years ago. It’s a complex of apartments and townhouses and our new “community” was throwing an open house. We walked inside the community clubhouse and were shocked at how old everybody looked. Now 8 years ago we were no spring chickens ourselves. We were 61 years old. And even though the complex didn’t bill itself as an ”Over 55 community,” there’s no doubt that is exactly what it is. And while you can recognize how old everybody looks to you, you can’t exactly verify how old you look to them. I was reminded of this moment when John pitched his “antiquities” idea. Because it relies on the fact that most people, in this case the security guard, have no clue how old they look to everybody else. Plus everyone has a weird reaction to age. I have one particular person in mind (whose name shall not be repeated in order to protect the guilty), who has never once revealed her age to anyone. At any time. For any reason. But here’s the thing, unless we are botoxed up the wazoo, your appearance gives you away. Maybe it's the fact that your hair is still blonde or jet black, long past when it should be. Maybe it’s walking with a cane or walker. Maybe it’s the fact than you can no longer read the menu without a flashlight plus reading glasses, but whatever it is, the fact is that most people know the truth. It’s like bald people with bad toupees, short people with ridiculously high heels, and even heavily botoxed people (I’m thinking of you, Jane Fonda in the movie “80 for Brady”), you ain’t foolin’ anyone. If we can’t tell whether your laughing or crying because your face is pulled back so tightly you know longer have expressions, it’s a sign you’re trying too hard.

Our other effort this week, comes from John and I discussing our exercise routines. I go to the gym and have seen a number of chubby personal trainers which led to the particular comic. Whereas John works out at home, with only his wife to make observations, and that led to this one. As we age, we hear reams of evidence that walking is the absolute best exercise you can undertake. Whereas other “experts” claim that weight bearing exercise is better because the muscles work overtime to repair themselves many hours after you’ve finished. In any case many of us are convinced that the way we are doing it is much better than the way other people are doing it. Then once in a while it takes a spouse, significant other or a really good friend who’s not afraid to tell you the truth. For me, all it takes is one good downward look from my wife in the general direction of my stomach to let me know it’s time to start skipping dessert for the next couple weeks.

So that is it for this week. One half of your favorite comic-writing team (Andy) is off to Patagonia for the next two weeks for an exciting adventure in aerobic exercise and altitude sickness, but fear not, there are two new comics per week in the pipeline for many weeks to come. See you soon and until then, enjoy this beautiful Spring.

Andy and John

How to fix Everything

That was a slightly sarcastic title. I mean, there is no way to fix everything, even though there are self-help books and YouTube videos claiming they can fix, well, anything. For instance, I just went on YouTube to find a video teaching me how to make the side view mirrors retract while parking my new car. Critical information indeed. Who among us really wants our side view mirrors sticking out when we park? Honestly. There are books and videos about fixing your golf swing, changing your diet to a healthier one, even how to be a better grandparent. But the one that gets both John and me are how-to books teaching you how to sleep. Really? You get tired, you shut your eyes and that’s it, game over. How hard is that? I, for instance, was infamous for an inability to keep my eyes open every day sometime between 3 and 4. This was not a recipe for climbing the corporate ladder. One time, I was flown to Paris to understand how my Swiffer campaign was being adopted in France. Between the wine and cheese courses and the movies on the plane, I managed to get about 2 1/2 hours of sleep. The plane landed in Paris around 6 am and I got to a meeting, held specifically for me and my partner (not John at the time). I was sitting in a conference room with about 8 people, absolutely nowhere to hide. The meeting started around 9 (3:00 back east if you’re counting) and I could not keep my eyes open for the life of me. Not exactly a good look. And this was compounded when it became 3 in Paris. Face it, me and 3 are no good together. But if you need a self-help book about how to fall asleep at 3, I’m your man. Thankfully, I discovered a trick at work in my last few years of advertising. I worked on the 29th floor, the company cafeteria was on the 2nd floor and adjacent to the cafeteria were 7 rooms specifically set aside for lactating mothers. Luckily for me, absolutely nobody knew about them except for the woman friend of mine who used one of the rooms for a daily 20-minute meditation. For me, the meditation invariably turned into a 20-minute nap, or as I liked to tell my meditating friend, my medi-nap. But back to the self-help stuff. John encountered this info about sleep while wearing a watch that critiqued his sleep. Yes, you may be getting the right amount of sleep, but is it the right kind of sleep? I don’t want to know. It’s sleep dammit. Babies are great at it. On the bright side, it gave John the inspiration for this idea.

Onto the other comic this week. The one about fixing an iron. For you golf enthusiasts out there, no, we’re not talking about a 5-iron or 9-iron, we’re referring to the type of iron you use to iron your clothes. To get those wrinkles out (unless of course you own “New, improved wrinkle-free linen”) from Untuckit.com. Now who on earth would be that lazy? Not me. Okay, maybe me. The point is, that nobody fixes things anymore. I mean professionals. For instance, our dishwasher wouldn't start. The first repairman I called said over the phone, “How old is it?” I said, “7 years old.” He said, “Not worth getting it fixed. Just get a new one.” Or my tv, a big screen HD sort of tv that one day stopped working. I called the electrician who ordered and installed the tv in the first place and he said, “That’s what, 6-years old?” And I replied, “Yeah,” to which he added, “You can’t expect things to last that long. Sorry but it’s time for a new one.” This “ancient” television for which I paid about $3,000 for, if memory serves me right, is now available at Costco for $400. So why pay the repairman more than that to fix it? And let’s not even talk about iPhones. Okay let’s. To quote John (not exactly but pretty close), they last just long enough to be of service throughout the time it takes to pay off the two-year phone plan, at which time the battery magically stops working and the Verizon store tells you it’s time to buy a new iPhone 30 for the low, low price of… You get the idea. These days, things aren’t made to be fixed. They are made to last just long enough to get them replaced. But, if you insist on trying to repair them yourself, like Al did with his iron, don’t worry, there’s a book or video on how to do just that. All right then, gotta go. I’m feeling a little hungry. Maybe I’ll pick up a self-help book on how to eat.

Have a great Spring weekend and we’ll see you next week with two new ones.

Andy and John

Prepping for a Better Tomorrow. 03/24/23

Getting older, having knee replacements, hip replacements, heart procedures and the like can make you think about the end. I had one friend who used to say something to the effect of, “When I die, I want an outdoor funeral that’s like a concert. Tie-dye shirts and the Grateful Dead blasting out of the speakers.” Unfortunately, he passed away young, but he got the party he was wishing for. As we get older it’s only natural to think about what the future might bring. And even though I’m the one who had the heart procedure, John’s the one who thought this comic up. Al is a worrier and a planner. For him it wasn’t enough to request “Stairway to Heaven” as his song (Heaven, get it?), he then worried about what the Led Zeppelin classic would sound like on a church organ. We both imagined it would sound terrible. You can take a great song, but play it with the wrong instruments or the wrong performers and well, it ain’t that great a song anymore. I’m flashing back to a spring break trip with my best buddy to Puerto Rico. The only show in town was some group called “Brandy Stratton and the Victorians,” and every night you could hear them belting out “Nights in White Satin,” a great song. But the point is, it’s a great song when the Moody Blues do it. Brandi Stratton, not so much. Not even the Victorians could save her. But back to funeral songs. I mean would you really want “Stairway” to be played on a church organ. Maybe “Light My Fire,” with its iconic organ solo, THAT might make a great song, but then it implies cremation and some religions frown on that and…never mind.

Moving on, we turned our attention to the gym. I don’t know how many of you readers actively go to the gym these days, with all the Pelotons and at home equipment these days, but if you do, you’ll notice a new breed of gym rat. The Personal Trainer. One approached me on a treadmill a couple years ago. I was jogging and doing one minute sprints every five minutes. The guy comes up to me, stands on the adjoining treadmill, and starts asking about my technique. If I remember correctly, “Are you doing intervals?” was one of his conversational gambits. I wasn’t sure who he was or why he’d strike up a conversation with a stranger about their workout. Was he trying to pick me up???? So to get rid of him, I asked, “Why are you asking?” To which he replied, “I’m a personal trainer. Hi, I’m A.J.” He offered his hand to shake but I was holding onto the rails for dear life during my sprint, so I just said, “Pleased to meet you A.J. I’m gonna finish my sprint.” He left but was so persistent in subsequent visits, I quit that gym and joined another. This particular gym had people in black shirts labeled “PERSONAL TRAINER,” which I found very helpful. They never approach a person, unless the person specifically asks for a trainer at the front desk. A much more civilized system as compared to the first gym. But while recounting this story to John, I mentioned that while most of them were very fit, there were a couple that had obvious paunch bellies. I found that kind of ironic and shared that with John. He thought, “…what if a trainer looked like that on purpose, so as not to be intimidating?” And I thought to myself, “Self, would you rather have a buff fitness instructor who’s going to kick your butt for 45 straight minutes, or a guy who’s a little paunchy, who might say, “Hey, take couple minutes and catch your breath, would you like a bottle of water?” Give me Mr. Paunchy every time. And our second comic was born.

Happy Spring everyone, even though it’s cold and raining right now in New York. We’ll see you next week. Who knows where we’ll go? Well, actually we know, but we’re not telling in advance.

Andy and John

MISUNDERSTOOD. 03/16/23

Before the pandemic struck, John and I used to meet every week at the halfway point between our two houses, Poughkeepsie, N.Y. We’d go to the same restaurant where they’d let us hang out for a few hours at a table (we tipped well) and think of new ideas for comics. Nearby our favorite haunt, The Tomato Cafe, was a restaurant/bar with an Irish/Mexican name, Juan Murphy’s. We were intrigued and came up with our own Jewish/Mexican alternative, Hava Tequila. Which to any of our readers who never have attended at Jewish wedding or bar Mitzvah, is a play on the song, Hava Nagila, which they play at every single event while the guests dance the Hora and the celebrated person or people are lifted high into the air while seated in a chair, holding on for dear life (the truly brave and insane hold on with only one hand while wildly waving their napkins in the other). The logo for our restaurant was immediately apparent to John, who while not Jewish, grew up in Long Island and worked in Manhattan so he developed a knowledge of Jewish culture, through osmosis. What is particularly impressive in this regard is he even knows how to spell tchotchke. John used triangular tortilla chips, one pointing up and the other pointing down to make a perfect deep-fried Star of David and the rest was history. It’s a great idea for a restaurant, by the way, as long as you can figure out how to get around the not being able to mix meat with dairy thing.

Our other effort was about misunderstanding song lyrics. As we get older our hearing doesn’t actually improve, so there’s that. And then it’s just because sometimes it’s difficult to hear somebody’s pronunciation. Perhaps the most famous example is Jimi Hendrix singing “scuse me while I kiss the sky.” We challenge anyone to hear the difference between that and “scuse me while I kiss this guy.” Can’t do it. Absolutely impossible. In this case, it’s a little easier to hear the difference between “There’s a bad moon on the right,” and “There’s a bathroom on the right.” But when you gotta go, you gotta go. It’s all you can think about. And it probably affects your hearing too.

One final personal note today. I (Andy) felt a little shortness of breath and light-headedness on an elliptical trainer a month ago. If you are reading The New 60 and you’re around 60 or 70 or 80 or even 50 and you feel anything like this, please check it out and don’t ignore it. Turns out yours truly had 80% blockage in one of my arteries and had a stent put in yesterday. Everything is fine but if I had ignored it, it might not have been okay, and John might have needed a new writing partner. Thankfully my wife set me straight and told me in so many words to get my ass to a cardiologist. In true New 60 thinking, the thing that freaked me out the most was the thought of not being able to eat so many cheeseburgers, hot dogs, pizzas and ice cream cones anymore. Turns out I was right. So if I happen to wander into Hava Nagila one of these days, I’ll forget the cheese nachos and stick with the chicken fajitas.

Have a great weekend, I know I will. We’ll see you next week with two new ones,

Andy and John

Making it Greater? 03/10/23

If you are a loyal reader of this blog, you’ll know why we named last week’s blog, “Makin’ it Great.” Since this week’s blog is based on this week’s comics which is the conclusion of a four-part series from last week…okay, you don’t care. That’s fine. And the truth is, I couldn’t come up with a better title, so there you have it. In the recent past I have made lots of references to this particular series being a three-part series, and now you find out that it’s a four-part series. So what gives? John was reading over the script for part 3 when he called me and said, “This is about Al receiving the Franchisee of the Year award, right?” To which I replied, “Right.” He went on, “And yet in part 3, the supposed final comic in the series, he still hasn’t gotten the award, right?” To which I sheepishly added, “Right.” Hence we came up with a part 4, and now it’s a four-part series, right?

This week we touched ever so lightly on a touchy subject, getting touched. I mean here is poor Joanne, this is not her idea of a 5-star vacation. Sioux City, Holiday Inn, seminars on heat lamp technology… and then she gets groped by the Pizza-on-a-Stick mascot, Mr. Sticky. Maybe Mr. Icky would be more appropriate. Fellas, take it from us, when your wife asks what time the indoor pool opens, that is a sure sign she’s only doing this for you. But back to Joanne, at the very least, she could take solace in the fact that Mr. Icky was wearing enormously oversized foam gloves.

And last but not least, as we get closer to the Academy Awards this weekend (did the Knicks really have to play the Lakers at the same time?? Really? It is not making me popular with my wife) it got us thinking about Al’s award. Okay they didn’t roll out the red carpet, they didn’t arrive in a chauffeured limo (though a Toyota Corolla Uber is as close as you can get), Joanne wasn’t wearing Dior and Al was most definitely NOT in a Prada tux, and right, they stayed at the aforementioned Holiday Inn, not the Four Seasons, but still we figured, if you were Al, you’d feel pretty damn special, It’s almost the same thing. Just a matter of degree, that’s all.

We will see you again next week with two new comics as Spring is in the air. Just 11 days away, but who’s counting?

Andy and John

Making it Great. 03/03/23

Many many moons ago, John and I both worked at an Ad Agency called BBDO. But we didn’t work together and didn’t work there at the same time. So why bring it up at all? Because one of the accounts we both worked on was Pizza Hut. At that time the agency was really into “great.” Oh and “Best” that was huge as well. They had Hellman’s, Bring out the Hellman’s and bring out your best, Gillette, the best a man can get, HBO, simply the best and then they went even better and came up with Pizza Hut, Making it Great. So now that Al’s pizza franchise has been selected Franchise of the Year, we went back into our combined ad experiences and came up with the title for this blog, Makin’ It Great. ‘Cause Al made his pizza franchise great. As we stated a few weeks ago, “and if you don’t know, now you know.”

As the comic enters its 5th year we have had fun at our characters’ expense. SO just this once, we thought we’d have something turn out right for good old Al. Okay, if truth be told, JOHN wanted something to turn out right, while I wanted Al to get accused of scrimping on the mozzarella and pepperoni to falsely pump up his profit margins. At the end John convinced me that we could still be funny, even if Al is a legitimate success. We hope after you finish the three-part series, you’ll agree.

The second comic this week…oh wait, it’s about the same topic as the first comic…deals with what happens once Al and Joanne get to the Pizza Convention. The Holiday Inn John drew is an amalgamation of every time-worn Super 8, Days Inn, Holiday Inn and Motel 6 we’ve ever had the misfortune to grace. Just a year ago, my wife and I had the “opportunity” of staying in a Super 8 which came with damp carpeting, mothball smell and the thinnest bath towels I’ve ever seen. On the plus side there was free wireless and HBO. Why is it that the Ritz Carlton or Four Seasons charges you an extra $15 a night for “high-speed wireless” when the Super 8 tosses it in for free? I don't get it. And if that’s “high speed,” I’d hate to experience slow speed. It’d take 4 1/2 hours to stream 60 Minutes.We imagined what it might be like to be feted at one of these places. In fact I was rumored to be the recipient of an award like this (Agency Partner of the Year, or something like that). I carefully wrote and rewrote my acceptance speech, careful to make it funny but not offensive (not as easy was you think—at least not for me) and when the moment finally arrived, I pushed my chair back and started to stand to begin my walk to the podium as the emcee said, “And now for our most prestIgious award, Agency Partner of the Year, please congratulate our winner, David Johnson (name changed to protect the innocent). I sat back down quietly. So yeah, this time we let Al win one. Which begs the question, would you rather be a big fish in a small pond or a small fish in a big pond? It doesn’t get any smaller than Pizza-on-a-Stick in Sioux City. Although I did once go to Pizza Hut Corporate Headquarters in Topeka, Kansas circa 1998. I passed a restaurant which had a placard outside proudly announcing it was a “Topeka tradition since 1993.”

See you next week with the final insert of our three part pizza convention series followed by a whole new direction. Have a great weekend,

Andy and John

A Bad Night Out. 02/24/23

If you are 50 or above, as many of our readers are, it may have been a long time since you’ve had a date. That is, unless you are divorced or widowed. Our character Craig is divorced. Of course he is. We had to have at least one character who was single, because how else were we gonna have fun with stuff like bad dates? If you look back in our archives we also covered awkward moments like getting undressed in front of someone new for the first time. The question was asked, “Lights on or…” and the response was “Off!” before the question could be completed. But back to Craig’s date. Some people are just uncomfortable with silence. I oughta know, since I’m one of them. And when people are uncomfortable with silence they just talk. A lot. In the case of Craig’s date, they talk a lot about themselves. I have been on some of those myself, but it’s been so long ago, I can’t remember the details. But I remember once going to Puerto Rico, and mentioning it and this woman launched into a 10 minute talk about Vieques, where she had gone, which was apparently much, much better that San Juan and featured a bay that lit up at night in a bioluminescent glow, thanks, of course, to microorganisms. I replied, “Yeah, but do they have even one golf course?” And that was the end of that. Then there are the career braggers and, my biggest pet peeve, the name droppers. There’s an easy way to spot a name dropper. They use only first names, as if they and the famous person whose name they just dropped are best of friends. “I was talking to Bradley and Gaga the other day about the sorry state of the Oscars…” So enough about me, how do you think I look? Suffice it to say, we don’t think Craig will be back for a second date with this one.

And speaking of bad nights out, we would be remiss if we didn’t talk about this past week in the world of sports, or rather lack of sports. The Super Bowl marked the end of the football season, and the very next Sunday, the entire NBA got the week off following the All-Star game. So no football or basketball! What’s a guy to do? John, who played college soccer, mentioned there was soccer and I quickly said that soccer didn't count. Truth is, I like soccer and said that only to piss him off. But really, am I going to watch a Champions League game between Eintracht Frankfurt and Napoli? Most of these games could only be watched by streaming and the powers that be insist on streaming them to platforms I don’t subscribe to and then only broadcast the games in Spanish. Gooooooooooooooal!!!! I think not, my goooooal was to avoid them. Al and Marv tried to find something on air by going to a sports bar. I suggested they’d find rugby or college basketball on tv but John came up with cricket. And how he knew about the Pakistan Super League, I’ll never know. But I looked it up and yes, it’s a real thing. Check it out, next time you have four days to spare watching guys collect wickets. And if it’s so much like baseball, why do they call the pitcher a bowler? But tonight, the Knicks are back in action. So at least for me, the world is back in order.

C’est la vie. We will see you again with a new three-part series about Al and his restaurant. Meanwhile, have a great weekend, even those of you in the Midwest who have been clobbered by snow. Stay safe and warm.

Andy and John

And if You Don't Know, Now You Know. 02/17/23

What’s with this title? If you are of a certain age (and most of you are) you might be thinking of Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes, “If you don’t know me by now…” but we’re not barking up that tree. Nope, I am referring to “Juicy,” by The Notorious B.I.G. Now, lest you think I am too hip for my age, I didn't know this song either. Many years ago, I was watching the play “Hamilton,” by Lin Manuel-Miranda with my family. In the play, Thomas Jefferson is having a battle with Hamilton and lays out what he considers to be the faults of Hamilton’s position. After doing so, he turns to President Washington, and says, “And if you don’t know, now you know.” At which point my son, in his 20’s at the time, turns to me, and says, “He got that line from Biggie.” And that’s how I know about it, not because I’m a devoted listener of hip hop. And if you don’t know, now you know.

But this title refers to both of this week’s comics as well. The first one about retronyms is actually our second comic on the subject. John, in addition to being an art director and illustrator, is also a lover of words. Which doesn't exactly leave much for me to do, now does it? But the point is we enjoy thinking up categories of words, like retronyms. What is a retronym, you ask? If the comic didn’t define it for you, here’s an example from the Oxford Dictionary: “A cloth diaper is a retronym necessitated by the fact that diaper now more commonly refers to a disposable diaper.” This is an example we can both relate to, being proud grandpas of baby girls. Believe it or not, we have ridiculous arguments over what should be considered a retronym and what should not. For example, “fresh squeezed orange juice.” I consider it a retronym, John does not. If I went on any further I think you readers would be begging me, “Enough! Please stop!” Which is exactly what Craig is saying when he implores Dottie, their waitress, to stop encouraging Al. And if you don’t know, now you know.

Another thing you might not know (because nobody likes admitting it), is our hidden love for musicians, authors, comedians, late night talk show hosts, that we secretly love but are too embarrassed to admit. I’m talking about James Patterson, who I love to read on the beach, but only on my Kindle, not in the hardcover form I actually prefer (incidentally, “hardcover book” is another retronym). This way nobody knows what I’m reading. And in the realm of music, it’s…it’s…okay it’s Neil Diamond. John, whose taste runs to jazz, has no embarrassing loves like this one. At least none that he admits to. So I told John that I had gone to see the Neil Diamond musical on Broadway and absolutely loved it. Ask my wife. For a week afterwards it was Neil Diamond in the car, Neil Diamond at home, Neil Diamond everywhere, until even I got sick of him. At any rate John heard this and said, “Okay, let’s make it Barry Manilow. Al and Marv are in the car, and Marv sees Barry Manilow on Al’s “favorite stations” list. I said, “Great, he’s even cornier than Neil Diamond. What I didn't admit is that years ago, I also saw Barry Manilow at the Bottom Line. And if you don’t know, now you know.

That’s it for today folks. Have a wonderful weekend and we’ll be back next week with two new ones.

Andy and John

It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time. 02/10/23

Pretending to be Jewish, instituting an Employee of the Month award, electing George Santos to Congress — they all seemed like good ideas at the time, but, in retrospect, some of them worked out better than others. Which got me to thinking, what were some of my great ideas that I wish I could take back? There was that party in my early 20’s in a suburb of Chicago, when I tried my first pot brownie. Of course nothing happened so I ate a second one. Whoops. I tried to tell my body, “Slow down now. Stop. You’re plenty high enough. Okay now stop. I SAID STOP!!!!!!” But that wasn’t all, I then snuck out of the party and drove back home, which at the time was Evanston, Illinois. The trip should have taken about a half hour. Ten minutes through some dark, winding suburban streets until I hit the highway, and then another 15-20 minutes until I blessedly reached home. Along the way on the aforementioned dark, winding suburban streets, I noticed a police car coming up from behind me, lights flashing. I cursed softly to myself and stopped (nothing like flashing lights to sober you up in an instant). The officer approaches the car, I roll down my window, lower my voice a few octaves and give my best, “Hello Officer.” He looks at me and says, “Do you have any idea how fast you were going?” And I replied, “No sir. I don’t” And he responded, “9 miles per hour. Try and pick it up a bit and get home safely.” I said (still in my deep octave voice), “Thank you officer and have a nice night.” Phew. Maybe not the best decision making.

And then there was the time at the NY Health and Racquet Club. I went there every morning before work, right when the doors opened at 7:00 am. I was an advertising copywriter at the time and I befriended a guy who designed blue jeans for Murjani. We’d jog together and end up stretching together at the end of our workouts. One day, he tells me he’s thinking of going out on his own and asks if I’d be interesting in doing his advertising to help him grow. I told him, “You know, I’m really flattered, but I don’t know the first thing about fashion advertising, Tommy.” Oh, did I forget to mention his last name was Hilfiger?

But I’d be remiss to mention bad decisions without mentioning one of John’s most egregious career errors. I was between jobs at the time and got a freelance gig at the agency, Ogilvy and Mather. They teamed me up with a guy on staff to write commercials. This guy was an art director who was in need of a partner. His name was John Colquhoun. Yeah, that John Colquhoun. We worked together for a week or so. And then the creative director came over, shook my hand and informed me today would be my last day, but keep in touch. I recounted this incident to John when we reconnected a couple decades later, and he had absolutely no recollection of that week. Had he liked my effort we could have rocketed to advertising superstardom, or, failing that, at least gotten a 20 year jump on the comic strip. But I evidently made such an impression that he still isn’t sure I ever worked there. Like Brando said in On the Waterfront, “I coulda been a contender.” Of course John went on to make a bunch of famous commercials for Little Caesars and even got to work with Jerry Seinfeld for Amex, but still…

At any rate I feel duty bound to reprint John’s response: “Andy likes to bring this up every now and again to make me feel bad and I’m pretty sure it never happened. Or perhaps it happened to Andy and another John Colquhoun. It was Manhattan after all, a city of 8+ million people. You can’t swing a dead cat in Manhattan without hitting another John Colquhoun…”

So here we are. After all these questionable decisions we’re still around. Entering our fifth year of The New 60. Our first published comic was January 25th, 2018. Our thanks to all of you loyal readers who follow the comic and the blog every week. You are what keeps us going. Well, that and the dream of syndication. If and when that day comes, hopefully we’ll learn from our past and give that syndicator a resounding “YES!”

Oh, and if Tommy Hilfiger is listening and wants to remake that offer, I’ll strongly reconsider it.

Have a great weekend and we will see you next week with two new comics.

Andy and John

Where Do We Come From. 02/03/23

So here’s the deal. When it comes to the subject of where did we come from, there are two types of people. People like John who trace their roots back through the ages and people like me who basically couldn’t care less. Pet peeve, people who say “I could care less,” which means the exact opposite of what they’re trying to say. I think if you could care less, then go ahead and care less. But I wandered off course again. The point is, I know very little about my past and haven’t thought of searching for it. I know one set of grandparents came over from Russia and the others used to live in Boston, but that’s it. After that, bupkis (which means “nothing” for those of you who don’t know a few choice Yiddish phrases). Friends have said to me, “You think your mother’s parents come from Boston? How about their parents?” And I shrug my shoulders and say, “I don’t know.” Whereas John can say he’s 29% Scottish, another 69% from other European locales, and 1% Ivory Coast and Ghana (the latter part is probably why he played jazz trumpet in high school). As for me, there’s the Russian part and then I’m told that my last name (Landorf) is actually German for “country village” so maybe I’m part German and I can see why my ancestors were smart to get the hell out of there. Come to think of it, I do have a predilection for sausage, sauerkraut, brown bread, beer and mustard with seeds, but that’s probably coincidental.

At any rate we decided to invent a past for Marv. Think about it, if we gave Marv my attitude, it wouldn’t have made much of a comic.

Mike: Hey Dad, what are those pictures?”

Marv: Oh just some old family photos I found in the attic.

Mike: Who’s that? Marv: I have absolutely no idea.

See what I mean? Not much of a comic. So we went with John’s ancestor-friendly approach and invented a past life for Marv’s grandpa, which explained the strange last name for a Black man, Mandlebaum. After some back and forth, John wondered about making Morris a baker of Streit’s Matzo. I went into my cupboard and just happened to have a box of the very same. As luck would happen they opened their matzo factory in 1925 which happened to fit our timeline perfectly and the story emerged. How many Black men in the 1920’s can you think of that became Matzo bakers? And how many of those starred for the company hoops team? Not too many, except for the esteemed Morris Mandlebaum, a guy that could make a crisp matzo. And a hook shot from 12-feet.

The other thing we like about the search for Marv’s past is it gave Marv a profound way to bond with his son. Come to think of it, maybe I will get the Ancestry kit after all.

Have a wonderful weekend and we’ll see you next week with the conclusion of the Morris Mandlebaum story and a trip back to Al’s new workplace, Pizza-on-a-Stick.

Andy and John

Past, Present, Future. 01/27/23

This week we took a step into the future with Al. He discovered Tik Tok (which John has and I have not). It’s funny, these days even the name Al looks funny. It looks a lot like AI, which for the uninformed stands for Artificial Intelligence. To me, artificial intelligence is like asking a smart person to write your term paper. You are artificially presenting yourself as more intelligent than you actually are. Way back in college I took two courses in the same semester, something like The History of China and The History of Chinese Politics. I needed the latter to complete my poly sci (that’s what we cool kids called Political Science back then) degree. For the first course I wrote “How Confucius influenced Mao.” For the second course I merely reversed the names and wrote about “How Mao Incorporate the Teachings of Confucius.” Guess what? It was almost the exact same paper. As the final semester of my senior year was approaching, I went in to the office of the professor who taught The History of China to collect my term paper and was shocked to find he shared an office with the Chinese Politics professor!!! As luck would have it the shared office was empty and I picked the already graded paper off the history professor’s table before my larceny could be discovered. He gave me an A! The other guy didn't like the same paper as well and it got a B or B+. But I digress. The point is, that’s how I cheated BEFORE artificial intelligence. Does it count as AI when you rip yourself off? And what does that have to do with Tik Tok? Although Tik Tok has a lot to do with recent Chinese history. And it certainly has a lot to do with the future. But I digress, as usual.

The second comic today is another multi-part adventure, this one into the past. In this one, Marv (which auto-correct, a form of artificial intelligence, keeps trying to change to “Mark”) takes a look into his past. How on earth did he, a Black man, end up with the last name “Mandelbaum? “ Suffice it to say you will learn that next week. But it started innocently with a trip to the attic, where Marv discovered some photos from his past. Wonder why all those programs—Ancestry.com, 23 and Me — are all so popular? It’s because of guys like Marv. John has taken a trip to his past through one of these, and I have yet to take the plunge, but we had a lot of fun inventing a past for Marv and his ancestors. We will reveal it in the two comics to come next week. Until then, enjoy your DNA and revel in this fact: you will no longer be bombarded by “Go Giants” missives on this website. They went alright. Straight into the trash can. Sigh.

Have a great weekend,

Andy and John